


and in dreams, we come together

by meios



Series: kinktober 2017 / goretober 2017 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Stormwatch (Comics)
Genre: Kinktober 2017, M/M, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meios/pseuds/meios
Summary: dick wakes m up, nice and easy.





	and in dreams, we come together

**Author's Note:**

> I am apparently doing Kinktober three days late.
> 
> Day 1: Sleepy sex

He’s never sure exactly how and when he awakens, just that he does and it’s with warmth pooling in his belly. The warmth grows to heat, unburdened and animalistic, singular in its goals, and though his body knows it should tense and shirk away from whatever this is, his head is screaming at him to remain: goodhotwet, Midnighter’s voice cracks on a whimper that is so unbecoming of him that if it weren’t for his sleep-addled mind, he’d be embarrassed. But his sheets are pooled at the very edge of his stomach, the jut of his hips like steel cutting into flesh: his hands slip down into soft hair that is not his, and he mumbles, “Dick,” into the air.

 

What answers him is a hum of affirmation, the cavern of his mouth otherwise occupied with the weight of his erection, and Midnighter can’t bring himself to open his eyes, to do anything but fall into the ministrations of a bobbing head and barely there rolls of his own hips. His skin tingles, thrums with the stimulation, and he has destroyed people, ripped them from the world of the living with his bare hands, and now the only thing he can do is pull on Dick’s hair, only slightly, only enough to ease him back and guide him up, all shuddering breaths and heaving chests.

 

Dick slots his body along Midnighter’s, the very core of their beings meeting, shooting electricity through the both of them like gunshots. Their mouths smash into each other, the overwhelming blanket that sleep still swathes them in remaining, though with the clumsiness of their kisses, the heat is there, overpowering. “Fuck,” Midnighter whispers, wrapping a hand around the both of them, breaking away to nibble at Dick’s neck.

 

To Dick’s credit, he is trembling, thrusting slowly, deeply, into Midnighter’s tight fist, the friction they create like matchsticks. A moan, broken on the last note like a song, permeates the room; they pick up the pace, and Midnighter has still not opened his eyes, and Dick presses kisses to every inch of his face. “C’mon, babe,” the younger man murmurs, “c’mon, I know you need it, you—fuck, come for me, M, _please_.”

 

The begging feels like a dream, like an answered prayer, and M doesn’t know how he’s found the edge, but he’s toppled over it, painting himself and his not-vision in white, and it’s only then that Dick finds his place too, perhaps a minute or two later, muffling his own moaning, his own sobs in the crook of Midnighter’s shoulder.

 

Silence envelopes them. Dick finally picks himself up and shifts downwards, his tongue trailing along hypersensitive skin. Drowsiness threatens to entomb him again, and M whimpers again, uncaring. “Dick,” he says, “Dick, c’mere.”

 

Dick comes, looping his arms around Midnighter’s torso, and there is a wall of warmth there, familiar in both scent and sensation, and Midnighter does not open his eyes, and Midnighter’s breathing evens out again, and he dreams.


End file.
